


meeting by accident

by goofball46



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, idk this is kinda dumb but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goofball46/pseuds/goofball46
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off of one of those au posts on tumblr that said “okay i get that there are no seats left in this cafe but like i am trying to read here no you cannot have this chair my feet are using it thank you very much please get out of my face now”</p>
            </blockquote>





	meeting by accident

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me @ hearteyesreyes on tumblr

Laura’s known Camila for approximately two minutes, and she already is not a fan.

“Look, _honey_ ,” Camila says, her gaze barely lifting from her book. Strike one: condescending. “I understand that this is the last available seat in the café. But I’m reading here, so _no_ , you cannot have this chair, because my feet are currently using it.” Camila waves her heavy black boot clad feet from where they perch on the chair next to her. Strike two: selfish. “Thank you very much, now please get out of my face.” Strike three: rude.

Laura shoves Camila’s feet off of the chair. “Listen, _Camila_. I’ve got a lit paper that’s due in two days, and this is the _only_ time that I have to do it, and this is the _only_ place where I can focus, and so I’m _going_ to sit here, and you can just… _deal with it!_ ” She sits down where Camila’s feet had just been and opens her laptop, ignoring Camila’s laughter despite her reddening cheeks.

“It’s Carmilla, by the way.”

Laura’s eyes shoot up. She wasn’t expecting Camila – well, _Carmilla_ , she supposes – to respond. “What?”

“You called me Camila. It’s Carmilla. Carmilla Karnstein.”

“Oh.” Laura clears her throat and gestures at Carmilla’s coffee cup. “I, um, I was looking at your, uh…”

“They spelled it wrong,” Carmilla says.

“I’m Laura,” Laura answers. The silence that hangs between them is awkward and heavy, and Laura can feel Carmilla’s eyes on her. “Um, I’m a freshman. At Silas.”

“Interesting.” Laura _refuses_ to look up at her, she _will not_ , she absolutely is _not_ going to-

Her eyes flick up to take in the other girl for real. Carmilla is all legs, wrapped up in black denim and leather. Her body is well defined through her clothing, and Laura is _absolutely not_ lusting after a girl she _just_ went off on. Except that she totally is, and Carmilla’s saying something again that Laura completely misses.

“Huh?”

Carmilla laughs. “Nothing.”

The word curls through Laura’s body, and her chest tightens. “Um, what, uh, where do you go? What grade are you in?”

Carmilla laughs again, and Laura realizes that that’s probably exactly what Carmilla _just_ answered. “I’m a junior at Silas, cutie.” Being just barely over five feet tall means that Laura has grown to hate the familiar moniker. Coming from Carmilla’s mouth, however, makes it… different somehow.

“Oh, cool. What are you studying?”

“Philosophy.” She holds up her book. It’s something heavy and pretentious and somehow fits Carmilla’s personality _perfectly_. “You?”

“Journalism.”

“Interesting,” Carmilla repeats, and her tongue curves the word into something beautiful. Her gaze drops back to her book, and Laura returns to her paper. She’s about a thousand words into the essay when she suddenly becomes very aware of a knee brushing hers under the table. Carmilla’s kneecap is bare through the rips in her skinny jeans, and Laura feels a warmth spread through her body starting from their point of contact.

“I’m writing my paper on intersectional feminism,” Laura blurts out. Carmilla raises one eyebrow, her gaze lifting to look questioningly at Laura. “Yeah, uh, our professor said we could write it on any topic, since she just wants to get to know our writing styles, and I picked feminism.” She doesn’t know why she’s _still talking._

“That’s pretty cool.”

Laura’s cheeks burn red, and Carmilla stands. She grabs her empty coffee cup and shuts her book, heading out of the café. Laura exhales heavily. “Way to make an _idiot_ of yourself, Hollis,” she chides herself under her breath.

It’s only when she leaves that she notices the napkin that Carmilla left behind with her number on it.


End file.
